For tired neighbours, mosque goers, passers-by with a flat tire, you are doing your best in a wonderfully inviting way. Without hind legs, because you obviously fell through that.
It immediately explains the problem: why nobody takes you home.
Once the tired human has lowered itself into you, it will never rise again.
In the few days that you have been standing there, it started to rain and storm. Several vans stopped when they saw you, but quickly moved on when they discovered your flaws. Social media groups dedicated posts to your lonely existence, so that maybe someone would take care of you after all. One man ventured on the edge of your seat to take a selfie with his dog.
And to emphasize your streetworthiness once again, you got graffiti, completely in style with your somewhat gritty black and white.
As the city passes by, you think of the player, who now stretches out on an expensive corner lounge sofa with his new lover by his side. And to the women and men he rode on your flanks before. Or were the owners quite firm and fierce, and did you already break after one number?
Rather, I envision a few guys, gaming, laughing, and in the heat of the game one jumping on top of you, and hoppa: finito. They sat on you for a while, but they too hardly got up from your soft corner.
You were put out on the street.
Anyway, Couch, you look great.
Tomorrow you will be picked up by the garbage collectors. Secretly I still hope for a smart person with a good idea. Someone who cares about your well-being.
Or that a concrete truck pours over you, so that your forms will be preserved here, on the spot, forever.
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